


Arachnophilia

by glymr



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If we get out, the other side of this Brood…you're buying the pizza." </p><p>"You're on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arachnophilia

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Big Event](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280281) by [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly). 



> Sequel to the "Mutual Admiration Society" by Merfilly, set in her Big Event Universe. Written and posted with permission.

Nightwing perched on the roof and unlocked the skylight, dropping down easily into the living room of his apartment. Spiderman followed carefully, then watched as Nightwing used a pole to close the skylight again, shutting out the cold evening air.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up while I order the pizza?" said Nightwing casually over his shoulder. "Bathroom's down the hall," he added with an absent gesture.

Fortunately, the ichor, as nasty as it was, was no match for the industrial strength soap Nightwing kept stocked. Peter scrubbed first his costume, then his body down. He felt slightly raw, his skin still tingling, but *much* cleaner as he pulled his still-damp costume back on.

Nightwing was in the kitchen, perched on the counter over the sink (so as not to drip gunk on the floor, Peter suddenly realized), a phone to one ear. "Well it should be in the database, I've ordered from you before," he said irritably. "Right, Richard Grayson...Just like it sounds, G-R-A-Y-S-O-N." He looked different, and Peter stared for a minute before he realized that the white lenses seemed to be missing from the mask. Nightwing...Richard?...winked at Peter and rolled his eyes. Blue eyes.

"You did?...Okay, great. Thirty minutes, got it." He pushed a button on the phone and lifted himself into a one-handed handstand on the counter, then flipped to the floor. "Why do I always get the new guy?" he sighed.

"Shower's free," said Peter.

"I guessed," Nightwing chuckled, then frowned. "Man, I'm sorry, I should have offered you a change of clothes."

"It's fine," said Peter hastily. "The suit dries fast."

"Mm-hm," Nightwing agreed, running an appraising eye over the skintight costume. It wasn't the first time Spiderman was glad that the suit covered all of his skin, hiding his blush. "Right, I'll be back in a few. Make yourself comfortable." He started stripping down as he stepped out of the kitchen, revealing a flash of bared skin before Peter looked away. At this rate the costume wouldn't take long to dry at *all*, he thought, feeling his skin grow hotter.

Ten minutes later, Nightwing wandered into the living room where Peter was flipping through a magazine - something about motorcycles. Peter looked up and almost dropped the magazine.

Nightwing was dressed in regular clothes, a tight-fitting dark t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants, and he was toweling his hair dry.

And he wasn't wearing a mask. Peter blinked, his mouth moving before his brain caught up. "Your mask--"

Nightwing looked at him quizzically. "You know where I live, you know my *name*...why would I leave my mask on?"

"Oh." Peter swallowed and looked down, fiddling with the edge of his own mask where it lay against his throat.

Nightwing looked at him sharply, then smiled. "You don't have to take yours off," he said.

"It's just...my...my family..."

"Hey," Nightwing held up both his hands in a 'stop' gesture. "It's okay, it *really* is. I get it. I had to hide my identity for *years*, even from my closest friends."

Peter looked up again. "Yeah?"

"The secret wasn't just mine to keep...there was my mentor, and...and other people, too. Now..." He sighed and shrugged. "There's no one left to protect but myself."

Peter nodded sympathetically. He wasn't sure what he would do if he'd suddenly been transported to a world without Aunt May, without MJ...

"Anyway, my name's Dick," he held out a hand, "And I'll just call you Spiderman until you tell me different, okay?"

Peter shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Dick."

"Likewise." He cocked his head to one side. "It must be hard to eat in that, though. You want to use one of mine?"

"Uh..." Peter thought about it, then shrugged. It seemed like a good compromise. "Sure, that would be great."

"Okay!" Dick darted out of the room and was back again in a few moments, a mask and two small bottles in his hands. "This is a new one, I've never worn it. You apply this to the edges - it's basically like spirit gum - and then when you want to take it off, you use the solvent." Peter took the items, bemused, and went into the bathroom to use the mirror. He pulled off his own mask and shook out his hair, then stuck on the smaller mask per Dick's instructions.

It was an odd feeling, and he scrunched up his face a bit trying to get used to it. The blank white lenses over his eyes were no more disconcerting than the white eyeholes of his own mask, and visibility was actually better. It was weird to see himself in someone else's mask, though. He rubbed the edge a little, making sure it was properly stuck down, and went back to the living room.

"So, what should I call myself now?" he asked. He felt weird, exposed. But Nightwing wore this kind of mask all the time, he reminded himself, and if Nightwing could do it, he could do it. "'Spiderwing'? 'Nightman' just sounds dumb."

"Nightspider," said Dick with certainty.

"Hmm, Nightcrawler might sue." Dick laughed, but before he could reply, the doorbell rang.

Dick shooed Peter into the kitchen and answered the door, re-appearing after a few minutes with a couple of large pizza boxes. "Want a beer?" he asked as he slid the boxes onto the table.

"Sure."

He opened the fridge and bent over, his pants tightening over his ass for a moment as he retrieved a couple of bottles and straightened up again.

"This mask will probably be a lot easier to eat in than my regular one," said Peter, looking away.

"Mm, yup," said Dick. He leaned over Peter to put the bottles on the table, then rested one hand on the back of Peter's neck, making every hair on Peter's arms stand on end for a moment. "Make other things easier, too," he said in a low voice. Then his hand slid away, and he went to the cupboard and pulled out some plates.

Peter cleared his throat a few times. "When did you discover that you were a mutant?"

Dick grinned at him and set the plates down on the table. "I'm not."

Peter looked at him blankly. "Of course you are."

Dick just shook his head. "Nope."

"But...but *no one* can do the things you do!"

Dick laughed. "That doesn't mean I'm a meta. It means I was taught to do things other people can't do."

"But--"

"Look," Dick grabbed a bottle opener that was stuck to the front of the fridge with a magnet and popped off the caps as he spoke, sliding one of the bottles across the table to his guest. "I'll even give you a blood sample if you want. I guarantee you'll find no meta-gene, no mutagenics, nothing like that."

Peter took a drink of his beer, still looking at him skeptically. "Are you sure you weren't bitten by a radioactive...monkey, or something?"

Dick laughed. "That's more Gar's department...though the monkey wasn't radioactive as far as I know, just green."

"Gar?"

"Long story..." Dick chuckled and shrugged. "One of my old teammates." He opened up the pizza boxes, helping himself to a slice with pineapple and pepperoni, and gestured for Peter to do the same. The cheese stretched out in a long string between the box and the slice, so Dick twirled it around one finger and popped the finger into his mouth. Peter realized he was staring...and blushing...again, and reached for his own slice.

Dick was watching him. "Penny for your thoughts," he said casually.

Peter's eyes flicked up to search the other man's face for a long moment. "I'm trying to remember if I've ever been attracted to a guy before."

Dick's eyebrows went up. "Oh? Come up with anything?"

Peter shook his head. "Drawing a blank, actually."

" _Really_? Never?"

Peter shrugged. "I always figured I had a pretty low Kinsey score," he said. "*Really* low...like, zero. But..." He trailed off and shrugged again.

"But?" Now Dick had only one eyebrow up, somehow making his expression both challenging and quizzical.

"Maybe..." His lips turned up in a shy smile for a moment. "A half on the scale?"

Dick laughed. "I've been the exception before. I'm the exception to a lot of rules."

"Like how you're a superhero without any special abilities?"

"Yeah. Like that." Dick seemed amused. "Except that where I come from, there's a whole family of exceptions to *that* rule." He paused and added thoughtfully, "Two, actually."

Peter took a bite of his pizza and washed it down with a swig of beer. "Do you want to...talk about them?"

"I..." Dick frowned a little, tugging at the wrapper on his bottle. "I can't."

"Okay."

They let the silence hang between them comfortably for awhile. When he'd worked his way through a slice and a half, Dick said, "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

"I...sort of. It's kind of an on-again, off-again thing." He sighed. "Right now we're off-again."

"Is she hot?" Dick grinned at him.

"Gorgeous," admitted Peter. "Really out of my league, to be honest." Dick's eyes raked over his body, and he looked like he wanted to protest the statement, so Peter went on quickly, "She's got the most beautiful red hair--"

Dick sat up, new interest flickering in his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's the real thing, too, not from a bottle."

"I've got something of a...weakness for redheads myself," said Dick, sounding slightly sheepish.

"Yeah?"

"My friends like to tease me about it. They say redheads are my kryptonite."

"Your what?"

Dick's eyes widened, and then he closed them for a moment. "I...nothing."

They finished their meal in silence, rinsing off their plates in the sink and tossing the bottles into the recycling bin. Dick wrapped up the rest of the pizza in aluminum and stuck it in the fridge while Peter hovered uncertainly. When Dick straightened up again, Peter said, "So, what now?"

With all of Dick's flirting, both earlier in the evening and during dinner, he probably should have expected the answer he got. It still gave him a shock, though, when Dick wrapped a hand around his wrist and tugged him closer, close enough to kiss.

It was...weird. Dick tasted like pineapple and beer and smelled like soap and shampoo. His mouth was firm and his tongue...agile. Peter hadn't really given a lot of thought to kissing guys, and how it might or might not be different from kissing girls. But he did know one thing.

He hadn't really expected to *like* it.

Dick was _talented_. And pretty clearly experienced. Peter shivered as Dick's tongue traced over his lips, dipping teasingly just inside his mouth before retreating again. Peter found his hands tracing down Dick's chest to wrap around his waist. Dick just smiled and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

By the time Dick pulled him into the living room and down onto the couch, Peter was past analyzing the situation and well into 'going with it'. Dick tugged at the costume, the skin-tight fabric sliding under his fingers, before slipping his hands under the top half and shoving it up. Peter pulled it over his head without a second thought.

Dick smiled. "Mmm, very nice," he said, leaning in to trace his tongue over newly-bared skin. His hand slid downward to cup Peter between his legs where his erection was starting to push his tights out of shape. Long, nimble fingers squeezed and teased through the fabric until Peter was gasping and arching off the couch.

Looking at him slyly from under his eyelashes, Dick tugged at the tights until Peter shoved them down and off (thank goodness he'd taken off his boots when they'd come in). Dick smiled and licked his lips. "Low Kinsey score or not, I don't know of any guy who dislikes _this_ ," he said as he, in a single, graceful move, went to his knees between Peter's legs. And before Peter could even begin to form a reply, Dick leaned forward and *licked* him.

"Uh--"

And started *sucking* on him.

"Oh fuck--"

And *swallowed* him.

" _Jesus_...How are you *doing* that?"

Dick choked a little and pulled off, laughter bubbling up in his throat. "I'm sorry, you just sounded so *surprised*."

Peter would have laughed too, but he was already regretting saying anything. "I didn't mean you should stop," he suggested, and Dick grinned and went down on him again, hot and slick and *tight*.

"Oh fuck," Peter heard himself saying, "Oh _god_ , oh fuck, *please* don't stop--" he cut himself off with a gasp. Dick was sucking on his _balls_ now. Peter couldn't see anymore, couldn't speak, could barely *breathe*. He dug his fingers into the couch, holding on for dear life as Dick's mouth wrapped around him again. "Ngh, god _yes_ ," he managed, his hips thrusting up without his permission. Dick hummed, deep in his throat, and Peter yelled and came, jerking and spilling helplessly into Dick's mouth. " _Fuck_. I. Fuck." He struggled to catch his breath and finally got his eyes open again just in time to see Dick yanking down his own pants and taking himself in hand.

"Let me," Peter said, reaching for him.

Dick smiled at him. "It's okay."

Peter frowned. "What kind of a jerk do you think I am?"

"No, really, I've got it. You don't have to--"

With a scowl Peter pinned him to the couch with one hand and wrapped his other around Dick's long, uncut cock. "I _want_ to," he said.

Dick just arched back with a little cry. Peter wished he had some lotion or something, but he wasn't about to stop to get any, so he made do with the precome coating the tip, sliding his hand up and down and feeling the odd, smooth sensation of Dick's foreskin sliding with it.

"Harder," whispered Dick, "Hold...hold me down." Peter leaned in, bringing more of his strength to bear as Dick writhed under him and jerking faster, rougher than he himself would have liked it, but judging by the breathless, desperate sounds Dick was making, it was exactly what he wanted.

Doing it to another guy was utterly different from doing it to himself. Peter watched avidly as Dick bit his lip and threw his head back into the arm of the couch. It was almost like fighting. Dick was sweating and desperate beneath him as Peter pushed and pulled and found himself muttering, "Come on...yeah, come on." It felt like a victory when Dick convulsed and came in several short, sharp bursts that coated Peter's hand and stomach.

"G-God, I've _missed_ s-super-strength," Dick gasped out, and Peter almost laughed.

"It doesn't intimidate you? I mean--"

"My first girlfriend was a six foot four alien with superstrength who could fly and shoot energy bolts from her eyes," said Dick dryly. Then he smiled, his eyes going distant. "And she had the most *beautiful* red hair."

Peter looked at his dreamy expression and resolved *never* to introduce him to MJ if he could possibly help it.


End file.
